{ooc: Trigger Warning - Suicide}

The sky looked painted, dashes of orange, red, and even a bit of black floating in every direction. It was his favorite time of day -  or night, rather. Just before dusk, when the peacefulness of the day was turning into the dark of the night.

Cold air blew through his greasy and distressed hair, sending shivers down his pale back. He couldn’t remember the last time he had bothered to get up and shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he got up to do anything, until now.

He thought he was happy. He thought he was fine, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t okay. And he never was, that was the truth. He always hated himself - from the very beginning. He had thought about this for days, all the days he hadn’t been doing anything, he was thinking about this.

About the end - his end.

Elijah couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming into his head. The thoughts of death, mainly his own, and people he loved. Not that any of them loved him back.

Nobody would miss him. How could they? What had he ever done that was so amazing? He never saved anyone. He never broke an athletic record. All he did was curl up a corner, and wish he was someone else. He hated his life, he hated who he was, and what he was becoming. He was never comfortable in his own skin.

He extended his arms backwards to lean on them, taking in the last glance of the sunset, of anything.

His finger grazed a frayed fiber of the rope, reminding he had a favor to do. He tied the knot, making sure it was loose enough to slide down when he jumped. He thought about his family, his mother, his worthless father, and the little brother he was leaving behind. He did love them, he really did.

But it was their fault.

It was their fault he was born, and it was his brother’s fault for taking the attention away from him. He needed that attention, but no, it was all about his little brother, now. And that’s how it was going to be for the rest of his little brother’s life. He imagined how it would happen:

“Alex, honey, come in here,” His mother would coo, begging her sticky-faced ten year old to come into the kitchen. Dad was even there, even though Mom hated him. Surprise! He wasn’t drunk. “You shouldn’t do this,” His dad would say, running his scabbed hands through his faded hair. Alex would come toddling in, shoe laces undone and shirt half off. “What, Mommy? Is Elijah back?” He’d ask, with a hopeful look. Elijah knew his brother loved him. And now he was about to be crushed. “No,” his mother would blurt, her hand pulling her bangs out of her face. “Why not?” Alex would ask, cocking his head to the side, just like they did in the movies. “He’s - He’s gone away, he’s never coming home, sweetheart.” She would say, tears and mascara running down her painted face. “Why are you crying, Mommy? He’s not really gone, he’s just not coming home. A lot of kids do that, right? They do in the movies, Mommy.” His mother would turn her blonde head to her favorite son and mumble, “Alex, Elijah is gone. He’s dead.” And Alex would break down. He would cry, and his whole face would turn red, like it always did -  like his favorite firetruck toy. His mother would carry Alex to his bed, and tuck him in. Alex would dream of his brother that night - and then he would forget about it the next day.

He climbed the tree, tying the thick rope to the highest branch. He thought it through, he would hang onto the tree, slip his head through the knot, and drop from his grip on the tree. His neck would snap, he would twitch, and then he would die. Just like that.

The rope was in place. He clung to the tree, and freed one hand to slip his black haired head through. The rope scratched his neck, leaving red marks. It didn’t matter to him. It wouldn’t matter in a few seconds, and it wouldn’t matter to anyone days after.

He let go of the tree’s trunk. The rope tightened. The noose functioned exactly how it should have -  he was always good with knots.

His feet twitched, his body swung, his neck snapped, and that was the end. 

Elijah Veleno was dead.

And in those last dying seconds, Elijah saw his funeral play out on the sunset, like a film on a big screen. It was exactly what he imagined. Everyone dressed in black, Alex wearing his best shoes and suit. His mother was in tears, and Alex was confused. His father was angry at the priest, who “blessed” his son. His Aunts walked up to the open coffin, and covered their mouths in shock at the bright red ring around their eldest nephew’s thin neck. His little brother went up to his coffin with his mother, and was just small enough to see his wrists. Slit, scarred, and broken. He cried, like the rest of them. What a fucking pity.

Despair, and helpless and hopeless cries and prayers to “let Elijah into Heaven’s gates” filled the stuffy air of the Church. Elijah wasn’t going to Heaven. He wasn’t even going into the afterlife. He would never have another chance at life.

Just like he wanted.